Shards
by AotA
Summary: Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Shards I  
**Author:** AotA  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** angst, attempted suicide  
**Characters:** Jazz, Optimus, Ratchet  
**Setting:** very AU tf-bayverse  
**Summary:** Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.  
**Notes:** This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct.

Jazz howled in agony that had no readily visible source, "_Prowl!_" The silver saboteur stopped and keened in despair, ignoring the battle raging around him. His deadly clawed hands rose to his chest as plates opened, exposing his spark. He reached within his chest and, like he had done to so many Autobots on the battlefield and in their berths at night, wrapped his claws about his unarmored spark and laser core.

He paused and offlined his optics, allowing himself a moment to remember. With one last whisper of Prowl's name, he ripped his spark, laser core and all, from his chest cavity.

Or at least he tried to. He found a large hand clamped around his wrist instead. Jazz onlined his optics in utter outrage. He glared at the hand and followed the arm it was attached to up and up and up until he met Autobot blue optics. "You _dare!_" Jazz snarled, twisting and writhing against the inexorable hold but was unable to move himself that last little bit to jostle his spark free.

Jazz thrashed wildly but ineffectively as his vocalizer angrily hissed and spat. There was nothing he could do. Despite his fans working in overdrive, they couldn't manage to siphon off enough heat to prevent his autonomic systems from kicking him directly into stasis.

Sad blue optics stared down at the red visored Decepticon who had tried to rip out his own spark out of his chest, "Not to worry, small one. Your Prowl isn't dead." Optimus looked a ways away where Ratchet was working on a black and white mech with a Praxian frame. "If we had thought that there was even a _chance_ of a bond… we would have done this very differently."

Optimus gently picked up the small, deadly mech, and carefully removed his hands from their dangerous position. He coaxed chest plated back into place and cradled the silver mech in his arms. _Ratchet? Prowl has a bonded. And I just barely managed to keep him from offlining himself. Can you manually disable Prowl's comm. and remove the disruptor? I don't want to lose Prowl because of a misunderstanding after we only just got him back._

Optimus winced at the burst of expletives that came from his CMO but echoed to sentiment himself. Using disruptors on bonded mechs tended to have… tragic results. He looked down at the mech that he held. Whoever he was, Optimus counted himself lucky that he had noticed the mech suddenly freeze even as the Decepticon retreat was called. If he hadn't… It didn't bear thinking about.


	2. Chapter 2

Title:Shards II  
Author:AotA  
Rating:T  
Warnings:** a**ngst, spark bonding, italics abuse  
Characters: Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz  
Setting:very AU tf-bayverse  
Summary:** Allegiances fluctuate**d at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.  
Notes:** This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct.**

_**Thank yous to cmdrtekk for all your suggestions and everyone who read and reviewed Shards! Marinelife37, you definitely hit the nail on the head there, though "upset" would be quite the understatement!**_

_**I'm just stunned by the reaction that Shards received and I have to say that I'm glad I changed my mind about it being just another one-shot **_**before**_** I posted it! Whew! If you wanted more action however, I'm sorry that I'm going to have to disappoint you. There is a lot of background information about what happened in the first chapter. This chapter is going to be a lot longer than chapter one though.**_

Ratchet worked in silence in the brightly lit sterile room that made up the main part of his medical bay. Ratchet patted the dead to the world mech, "Well my friend, it's long past time that you came back to us." With a final tweak Ratchet disconnected from Prowl's systems and waited a klik for him to come online.

Crimson optics lit and Ratchet hid his shudder at the color behind a caustic welcome, "It's about time I saw your aft in my med bay again. You're way overdue." Ratchet savored the slight flinch he received, "How are you feeling?"

Prowl cautiously levered himself upright, running diagnostics. Testing his mobility and transformation capabilities, he shifted every part of himself so quickly that it appeared that his body rippled. When he finished, Prowl's wings lifted in a satisfied manner, "Much better. Thank you, Ratchet. I have greatly missed your skill."

Ratchet's optics narrowed to pinpricks, "Good. That means that I can _kill_ _you_ _for being a fragging idiot!_" On the word "idiot" Ratchet struck Prowl upside the head. "Why didn't you say that you had a bonded? And a Decepticon at that! Are you _completely _suicidal?"

Prowl recovered from the blow but his wings went completely rigid, "_Excuse_ me?"

Ratchet growled, "You heard me. Or have we all just imagined _that mech_," he jabbed a finger toward the far side of the med bay, "who is _bonded to you_?"

Prowl followed the direction of Ratchet's finger and caught sight of the silver mech hooked up to a stasis monitor under a medical stasis lock. Prowl rose in shock, "…Jazz?" He darted over, dodging Ratchet's grab as he went. He hovered over Jazz, drinking in his features, noting the changes from the presence of various upgrades, "…but your face is the same…" Prowl lightly traced the edge of Jazz's red visor, brushed over the horns that framed the crown of his head, and came to rest on his slack lips. Prowl looked up at Ratchet who hovered behind him wearing a fierce scowl, "Why is Jazz here?"

"So his name's Jazz then?" Ratchet circled around the berth that Jazz was laid out on, "Well, _Jazz_ is here because he nearly killed himself, youstupid, _stupid_ mech." Ratchet practically seethed with rage.

Prowl froze, "…what?"

"When we retrieved you it was decided that we would use a disruptor as it is the most effective method to take down a mech that would appear fatal," Ratchet gritted out, "If we had known that that you had a fragging bonded we would have _never_ even _considered_ it. But we didn't. Do you know what a disruptor _does_ do bonded mates?"

Prowl shuddered, "I know."

He had actually seen the result of use of a disruptor on one half of a bonded pair firsthand. First, the one under the effects of the disruptor had his comm., identification tag, and other communications methods forcibly disabled, bonds were almost entirely dampened, whether by design or as a side effect. Second, the unaffected bonded would feel their bonded's "death" and suicide in any number of ways to "join" their bonded in death. The third effect was the true horror. When the disruptor's influence was removed and the mech brought back online, he would feel his bondmate's absence and subsequently suicide as well. It was a tactic that was occasionally used on captured pairs by the Decepticons.

Apparently, it appealed to their sick sense of irony.

That particular thought was one of the reasons he had informed _no one_ that he had bonded. The sad irony of the situation was the fact that his decision indirectly _caused_ the scenario to play itself out with himself and Jazz as the victims, only at the hands of ignorant Autobots instead of the cruelty of the Decepticons. Prowl curled his hand over his own spark as he felt a painful pang from it.

He could have killed Jazz simply by trying to protect him.

"Will he be okay?" Prowl needed to know.

"He should be," Ratchet replied guardedly, but not unkindly, "but there is no guarantee. Disruptors can be… extremely damaging to bonds of all kinds." Bonds were one thing that he would never be sarcastic about, or even anything less than completely serious.

Prowl stood stock still for a long moment before he nodded solemnly, "I see, thank you."

Ratchet scowled and continued to hover but didn't say anything, though Prowl could tell that he wanted to.

Prowl turned back to Jazz. No matter the circumstances… To have him near relieved a part of his spark that had hardened itself to the rigors of the war, from the pain of not being with Jazz. Another part of him though, quailed from the thought of seeing his bonded face to face once more. It had been so long since they had spoken with one another and their bond had lain quiescent in all of that time.

Jazz was a Decepticon… But Prowl…

While Prowl could wear a Decepticon demeanor like a cloak, he was an Autobot just as assuredly as Jazz was not.

For the first time in a long time, Prowl prayed to Primus that everything would be fine. For so long, they had been merely two ships that passed in the black. Prowl didn't dare hope for anything, even as he prayed with all of his spark.

Prowl remained by Jazz's side for the orns that he was still in medical being checked over for bugs, viruses, and anything else that might harm him from his time spent as a Decepticon. The only time that he left was so that he could be debriefed after he had been generally medically cleared. Ratchet would be bringing Jazz online shortly after the debriefing.

When Jazz's visor lit, his first sight was Prowl leaning over him. Crimson optics met. Jazz's first word were, "I actually managed it, then." There was nothing but relief there, but Prowl was shaking his head.

"We are both alive, Jazz. Neither of us are dead. Optimus Prime stopped you from…" Prowl paused helplessly for several kliks before shaking his head, "…after I was hit by a disruptor."

"A disruptor?" Jazz shot upright, nearly colliding with Prowl. "Where were you that you were hit with a disruptor?" Jazz paused and then demanded, "And why, by the Unmaker, would Prime bother to stop me from killing myself?"

Prowl sighed. _Primus._ He really didn't want to have to explain this to his bonded. Especially not when he could feel Jazz trembling against him. Pit, Prowl was shaking himself. Without words, the two mechs pressed closer together.

Prowl didn't notice Ratchet slipping out of the bay, all his senses focused instead on his bonded.  
The engaging of the lock to the room only registered in his processor enough that he realized that there was no longer anyone there. His chest plates split in unison with Jazz's and they leaned together, gingerly touching spark to spark, for the first time in vorns.

Time no longer existed for the pair, their separate sparks joining together in an explosion of senses.

There were no words to describe it, but they needed no words, for joined as they were, they were one. What Jazz knew, Prowl knew. And what Prowl knew, Jazz knew. And they knew that they would never let what had happened to split them in the first place ever happen again.

Prowl and Jazz would never stand mere furlongs from each other and not know each other. Never again.

They stayed that way for an indeterminate length of time, reaffirming care, and love, and devotion. They fit together so well, that they made up for what the other lacked and complemented each other in their strengths.

When they finally pulled apart, frames still wrapped about each other, they trembled with more with suppressed emotion, overshadowing their great need. Jazz was the first one to managed to scape himself back together enough to speak. "...Wow..." he said in a hoarse, disoriented whisper, "That was... intense."

Prowl agreed wordlessly. That was _one_ way of putting it. It was almost like the first time they had bonded. Almost painful at first, but maddeningly pleasurable at the same time. It was as if they had bonded anew. Both of them could feel their emotions flowing openly between the both of them, and the restlessness that had plagued the both of them since their original parting pacified.

Slowly, their trembling calmed, but they remained together, physically, mentally, and emotionally. They remained that way until they fell into recharge together, basking in the nearness and company of their bondmate.

4/4


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Shards III

**Author**: AotA

**Rating**: K

**Warnings**: None (This fic is _not _going to have a feel good ending. At all. They will have a chance, but it's still not a nice/happy ending. It's actually going to be sad and/or sparkbreaking.)

**Characters**: Jazz, Prowl, Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet

**Setting**: very AU tf-bayverse

**Summary**: Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.

**Notes**: This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct.

Jazz sat slumped on the berth, staring at the wall. 

"Ah saw ya, on the field, ya know."

"I know."

"Didn't recognize ya at all. Never saw ya as a magenta type, or with red optics, an' definitely not that flashy."

"That was the point Jazz."

"_Ah know that!_" Jazz suddenly roared, jumping off the berth and punching the wall hard enough to dent both the wall and his fist. Jazz hissed and began pacing back and forth, tension visible with each jerky movement that he made. "Damn it all to the pit," he growled.

Prowl watched his small, silver dart of a deadly bondmate. Prowl opened his mouth to speak, but before he could actually say anything to calm Jazz down, the door opened and Optimus entered, Ironhide right behind him and to the right.

Jazz whirled around but whatever he might or might not have done was halted simply by Prowl's hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Jazz simply vibrated in place, with all the tension of an over stressed wire. His claws clenched and unclenched spasmodically.

There was a long moment of silence, but Prowl was the first to speak when all the Prime did was simply observe them without a word, "Prime, sir." Ironhide looked as unhappy as ever, but he too was quiet.

"Prowl," Optimus nodded to the tactician, "and Jazz."

At the sound of Optimus' voice, a grim tone that any Decepticon would be able recognize as heralding bad things to come, Jazz stilled entirely. He looked from Prowl to Optimus to Ironhide and back again.

After another moment of silence, he drawled into the oppressive silence with a confidence he didn't really feel, "What exactly is goin' on here?"

Optimus' weighty blue optics surveyed Jazz, freezing him into place, "Disciplinary measures."

Jazz bristled but Optimus ignored the flare of silver armor and spoke to Prowl instead, "Ironhide will escort you to the brig. I'm sure you know your infractions?"

Prowl's expression was unreadable, "Yes, Prime."

"Good. Now, I wish to speak with you alone, Jazz."

"_Frag_ no!" Jazz exploded for the second time in a few breems. "Yer _not_ takin' Prowler anywhere!"

An unexpected, and muffled, voice butted in through the door, "The Decepticon's right Prime. Prowl's not going anywhere, not just yet."

It was Ratchet, Autobot CMO, Jazz realized.

"I have already been cleared, Ratchet," Prowl said blandly without inflection, voiced raised ever so slightly, "Prime is within his rights."

"Slag that!" the medic bellowed back and all four mechs could hear feet stomping their way down the corridor.

"Prowler..." Jazz growled, stressed, red visor glowing.

Prowl squeezed Jazz's shoulders firmly for a moment, "Calm, Jazz." He released his hold on the Decepticon saboteur.

Head held high and his wings even higher in a rigid pose, he followed Ironhide out of the room, stranding Jazz all alone with the Autobot leader.

"Ya hurt Prowl an' Ah'll kill ya," Jazz snarled as soon was Prowl was out of sight, rounding on the comparatively gargantuan mech. It was not a threat, but a promise that Jazz would keep if it killed him. It didn't matter how big or strong a mech was. If Jazz decided that they were going to die, they would meet Primus, sooner, or later.

Optimus' response was just as weighty, but also sympathetic, "You need to not worry about Prowl. For now, look out for your own health. Enter Ratchet!"

Jazz flinched at the sudden summons and appearance of the bright yellow CMO. He crouched slightly, ready for anything.

Ratchet eyed the both of them, then barked at the Prime, "Get out!"

Jazz shuttered his optics in surprise. He was ready for anything ...or at least anything but _that_. The Prime hastily vacated the room and Jazz was now alone with the grouchy, bossy medic. Anyone who could, and _would_ order about the fragging _Prime,_ and actually be _obeyed_—_!_

After a tense moment, Ratchet vented out, "Get on the berth," he ordered tiredly.

Jazz quickly sat down on the edge of the berth.

-=/\=-

Prowl stepped into the brig and the plasma lit bars hummed to life behind him. Prowl turned around and was intrigued by how Ironhide was looking at him.

"Yes?"

Ironhide crossed his arms, cannons prominent as ever, "You're an idiot."

Prow's optics shuttered in surprise, "Excuse me?" It wasn't every orn that he was called an idiot. Normally Jazz was the only one who… used to call him anything of the sort. And with Jazz, it tended to have been exasperated endearments.

"You heard me, "Ironhide glowered, "What were you thinking, hiding something like a bond? Even from Optimus? And you should have at _least_ told Ratchet!"

Prowl looked away, but his wings drooped ever so slightly, a tell that Ironhide had long since learned from close association with the tactician. Ironhide grunted in satisfaction. Prowl looked up, frowning, "I did it to protect him, and myself." Prowl's hands clenched, "I knew that Jazz was not an Autobot and I predicted that the probability that he had joined the Decepticons at 83.59 percent."

Coldly, Prowl demanded an answer from Ironhide, "What do you think would have happened if I had told anyone that I was bonded, let alone to a Decepticon inclined mech?"

Ironhide didn't say anything in response. He didn't need to because that the picture that Prowl had painted was grim.

If Prowl had even managed to be brought in as an Autobot in the first place, he would have been a target of Decepticons and angry, vengeful Autobots alike. Bondmates complemented each other and stayed together.

This time though, they hadn't remained at each others' sides.

Prowl knew that he had won when Ironhide rumbled angrily and stalked off. For Prowl, it felt like an empty victory though.

He and Jazz had had an argument and the argument had ended with Jazz taking off.

Perhaps that argument had been prophetic, for the exact thing that they had argued about, had been the war, and the different factions. Prowl had always supported the tenants of Autobot philosophy, but Jazz did not. A military built mech and one with his claws on the beat of the underworld from the sparking, Jazz only saw the naïveté of that school of thought.

Usually, even after a heated argument and they had both given each other time to cool off, they quickly found each other again and it was soon as if they had never argued in the first place.

After that last argument however, neither of them had the opportunity to meet up again. Praxus had fallen. The block that they had placed on their bond was never reopened because their sparks could not touch each other to reopen a bond that they craved more than life itself. He had survived having his city fall down around him, as had one other Praxian in the city at the time, but the only other living Praxians were those that had not been within the city limits when the Decepticons attacked.

Jazz had returned to ruins, and the hope that, even with their bond blocked, his spark would know if its other half had been extinguished. He had turned toward finding the one who had ordered the destruction of the towers of Praxus, and separated him from his bondmate. He knew that Prowl would find him.

Prowl reached out with his spark for Jazz and felt a relief that he knew he would be feeling for a long time at that simple contact. They would never block their bond ever again, even if they were angry and arguing with one another. To go vorns without ever knowing the touch of one spark to another… it had been a slow, torturous existence.

He might have broken the rules by hiding the existence of his bond, and it might have been chance and luck that brought them together again, but Prowl knew that if he had not become an Autobot, then they might have never found each other.

Prowl felt a familiar crackle of temper through his bond with Jazz and smiled, knowing that the small silver mech was in fine form, whoever or whatever he was pissed off about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Shards, a Prequel

**Author**: AotA

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings**: mentions of torture, death

**Characters**: Incinerator (he's not actually an OC and I bet Shards readers can name him), OC Charter, OC Diver, that mysterious masked—er silver mech, Ratchet, Optimus.

**Setting**: very AU tf-bayverse (Shards)

**Summary**: As an infiltrator he was called Incinerator and did his merry best to sabotage his infiltratee's efforts and, well, steal their less than loyal mechs.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Transformers.

**Notes**: This was Prompt #4 off of tf_speedwriting and I took 95 minutes. Does this make Shards readers happy?

Incinerator paused outside the central data center and sent a subtle scan through the door, quickly enough that it wouldn't seem that he had done so. He had garnered enough "trust" that he could enter a data center and not seem out of place or be questioned, but he also did not have a legitimate reason to consulting one this time.

He smiled grimly behind his ever present battle mask and coded into the door. He locked it behind him and quickly sat at the terminal, bringing up screens and indexes that the needed. Verifying that he had the proper data sets, he drew a secure drive out of subspace and hooked it up to the systems.

With a few nudges of the systems the data was quickly copying itself to the drive and Incinerator had to _wait_.

And that was the most dangerous time.

Central data centers were always secured and only certain mechs with the proper codes could access them, but that only meant that while there were fewer mechs that could interrupt him, the ones that could would know that he was not supposed to be there.

Incinerator watched the percentages creep towards completion and wished that there was a way to do this faster.

Incinerator froze as sensory panels, diminutive and folded up as he had made them, picked up a resonance outside the door to the data center. Incinerator bit back a curse one moment and then thanked Primus the next as the data drive lit up, showing that it had finished the data transfer. With precise movements, he disconnected the drive, subspaced it, and shut down the terminal.

In less than a klik, he was standing before the door and opened it—before whoever it was outside finished entering their access code.

Incinerator feigned surprise.

"Charter, sir! I have been looking for you everywhere!"

Charter eyed Incinerator, unimpressed, "And I have been looking for you. What are you doing in here?"

Incinerator scavenged up a tinge of embarrassment, and proceeded to pretend to hide it, "I wanted your opinion on a new strategy handed down from the squad TO. You always have a great perspective on battle plans, and I thought… Well… And since I couldn't find you anywhere else, I thought you might be here."

Charter's lip components quirked just enough to form a smirk that Incinerator knew to be at his expense, "Show me then."

Incinerator pulled out a small data pad that he had kept on hand in case he had run into Charter specifically, "These are the plans, sir."

Charter plucked the pad out of his hands to get a better look at it and shoved Incinerator back inside the data center. Incinerator waited as Charter read through the pad and turned on the terminal simultaneously. Making alterations to the pad and scanning through information that Incinerator was pretty sure that he had collected on the terminal at the same time, he muttered to himself for a moment before shoving the data pad back into Incinerator's hands, "There. Show your TO that. Tell him that sloppiness is no excuse when he's in his position. If I see another pad like that, I'll kill him myself."

"Yes, sir," Incinerator said, "and thank you, sir."

Charter turned to focus on the terminal, but when Incinerator didn't move, eyed him again, "What are you waiting for? Permission? Leave already. And before I forget, report to the commander before you hand your Tactical Officer his aft for pure stupidity. Mech wanted to talk to you about something."

Incinerator felt apprehension form at the command but hid it behind an ingratiating, "Yes sir."

"Good, now shoo. I have actual work to do instead of cleaning up after idiots who don't know their helms from their afts."

Incinerator quickly left, but similar grumbles from Charter followed him out into the hall until the door to the central data center closed behind him. Incinerator felt almost euphoric relief flow through him. He had evaded one obstacle, but now he had another in the form of his commanding officer.

Trepidation dogged his heels as he headed toward the bridge. Why would he want to talk to him? Had he done something that would display his true allegiances? He didn't think so, but it was impossible to know if he had done something that would advertise it.

Coming onto the bridge of the _Armistice_, a purposely ironically named ship, Incinerator paused for a moment to take in the atmosphere. Tension floated through the air, warning him that this probably wasn't going to be pleasant to interrupt anything that may be going on. He steadied himself and immediately headed over to the commander who was letting his intakes wash over a nervous to the point of panicking navigator.

Pausing just a little ways away from the pair, enough to not be in immediate range of any sort of outburst, Incinerator called Diver's attention, "You called for me, Commander Diver?"

Diver looked up, but didn't remove his menacing hands from where they pinned the worried navigator, "Ah, Incinerator, just the mech I was needing."

For some reason the terror of the navigator skyrocketed. "Ah," Incinerator nodded, even though he wasn't liking where this was going, "how may I be of assistance, Commander sir?" He demanded of himself that he be as genuine as possible even though he was sure that this wasn't going to end pretty, again. Anything less would end in disaster.

Diver's smile was a grotesque thing to behold, "I need you to have a …talk, with this mech here. I've heard that you are quite …efficient at ferreting out traitors."

Incinerator nodded, with a forcing a hint of excited servility, "Yes Commander Diver!" And if they didn't quite happen to actually be traitors …well. That was just too bad then wasn't it? So long at the command didn't catch him terminating mechs that were loyal to their deranged beliefs, he could hide away those mechs that weren't, and send them either to the Autobots or to a neutral faction depending on their beliefs. Either way, he left no trace of a mech once he was "finished" with them. Hence the name "Incinerator" after the high heat that he used to cremate the bodies of his, more adamant, victims.

He let some get away of course, but just as often as not, an officer asking him to "ferret out a traitor" was a death sentence to said traitor.

It wasn't initially part of his role but all too often he _had_ been given mechs that weren't Decepticon loyal and it was either kill fellow Autobots and Neutrals at heart who wanted nothing to do with the war in the first place, or find some way to save them.

Incinerator simply used the original plan to ingratiate himself with the command on the _Armistice_ and took advantage of the abilities given to him to save lives, collect the data that he had been sent for …and to fulfill his own, more personal, goal.

Incinerator was sure that he had the information that he needed, both for the Autobots and himself, but he hadn't had the chance to look at it yet.

Still, he had activated the beacon that notified the Autobots that he was ready for extraction the moment the data transfer had completed. Likely, this one mech wouldn't have time be incinerated or smuggled out of Decepticon hands, whichever it would be.

Incinerator placed a hand heavily on the navigator's shoulder, continuing the charade and asked with faked kindness veiling just as faked menace, "What is your designation, navigator?"

The navigator would have to simply remain "the navigator" because just as the scared to death mech tried to choke out his designation, proximity alarms began to scream all across the bridge.

Even as Incinerator began to run for battle stations, he smiled fiercely behind his battle mask.

It was time to go home.

When the fighting erupted, Incinerator worked his way towards the center of the melee where he could give the proper signal. For a moment though, he stopped to stare at the arrival of another troop of Decepticons and the arrival of on particular vicious silver mech that began wading his way through the battle field striking swaths of death in his wake.

Incinerator cursed, but as the silver mech spared little care for his comrades' health, he dared not intercept him. He forced himself to continue onward.

Eventually, he spotted Ratchet and he sent the ridiculously heavily encrypted transmission that, in truth, said nothing at all. Ratchet would recognize it because it was an encryption that they had created before he had ever left on this mission.

Ratchet's head twisted this way and that until he spotted him. Once he did, the yellow mech nodded subtly.

Incinerator paced the flow of the battle and, just as soon as Optimus took down Diver, permanently, Ratchet struck.

In the split second that he had to think before everything went offline, he had a moment to spare to feel the full extent of his horror when he realized what it was that Ratchet had struck him down with.

_A disruptor! No!_

Ostentatiously patterned magenta winked out of existence and Prowl fell offline, to all appearances, dead.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Shards IV  
Author: AotA  
Rating: K  
Warnings: Fluff probably (This fic is _not _going to have a feel good ending. At all. They will have a chance, but it's still not a nice/happy ending. It's actually going to be sad and/or sparkbreaking.)  
Characters: Jazz, Ratchet, Ironhide, Prowl, Optimus  
Setting: very AU tf-bayverse  
Summary: Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.  
Notes: This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct.

Jazz rumbled lowly as Ratchet began yet another test. Of his patience.

Ratchet paused at the ill tempered, subsonic vibration. "I'm almost finished," the medical officer offered.

"How close ta finished is _almost_?" he asked accusingly. Almost was a substandard unit of measurement considering he wanted to be done _now_.

"Almost finished as in I just completed my scans." Ratchet's tools began folding back up into a shape more recognizable as a hand.

The pieces of his armor that Ratchet had moved aside so that he could access different uplink ports and check protoform condition snapped back into their proper protective positions. Jazz shook himself, trying to remove the sense of Ratchet's touch, both physical and processoral. His spark reached for Prowl's.

The warmth that Prowl _always_ had to spare for him, whether or not he was being a typically bad tempered military, build bolstered him. Jazz turned his attention back outward. "So, Ah can go see Prowl now." It wasn't a question.

"For now," Ratchet agreed, "I found some anomalous readings but for now you're not about to keel over dead or go berserk and try to kill us all, so far as I can tell."

Jazz scowled, "Very funny."

"It wasn't meant to be because I wasn't joking." Jazz heard a private comm. channel open and close. "Ironhide will take you to see him."

Jazz tossed his head, "Or ya _could_ always just give me a map o' tha base and I could go there myself?"

Ratchet snorted, "I'm going to assume that was an ill advised attempt at humor."

"Hah hah," Jazz said dryly, "Now where's that walkin' cannon?"

"He'll be along in a few breem, so you'll just have to wait until he is free to come and get you."

Jazz quickly tried to convince himself that attacking the medic wasn't worth it.

It wasn't working.

-=/\=-

When Ironhide _finally_ came by the medical bay, Jazz was set to pounce on Ratchet and start gnawing on his leg simply for the lack of having anything better to do. It was a source of relief, for both medic and patient, that Jazz was leaving Ratchet's domain.

If Jazz had been feeling less prickly, he might have even thanked the mech for showing up when he did …and then proceeded to punch his lights out for taking so long.

Jazz grimaced, realizing the track that his thoughts had taken him down once more. It was only now that he had rejoined with Prowl did he realize how far out of balance he had become. When they had bonded the first time, they had struck a careful equilibrium between themselves. By the time that they had been separated, Jazz had come to depend on Prowl's steady dependability. And since he had learned to depend on Prowl to calm him, being out of contact with his spark bonded had sent him on a downward spiral toward the Pit, just slow enough not to see it himself.

And from what he had seen in Prowl's spark, the tactician had fared little better. He was simply more capable of hiding it.

Jazz fisted his claws and caught back up with Ironhide, having fallen behind slightly in his preoccupation. He would always be there for Prowl if it killed him. No more running.

Jazz spent his concentration on memorizing their path from the medical bay to the brig. He took everything that he saw and plotted out, creating a map so that he couldn't get lost in this particular Autobot base.

Quicker than he was expecting they arrived at their destination. It was obvious which cell Prowl was in as the only one with active security bars. Jazz slipped around Ironhide's bulk and came right up to the edges of the plasma bars. "…Prowl?"

Prowl's back to him, but he saw his graceful, red chevron rise, wings flicking up in tandem. Prowl spun around, "Jazz!" The surprise didn't show so much in his face as it did the position of his wings.

Jazz gingerly slipped a hand through the bars, his small size as a plus in this case. He linked his hand with Prowl's, "Hey there dear spark."

Prowl kept their hands wrapped around each other, but he knelt, drawing them more level with each other. He gave a soundless laugh, "Hey yourself. What are you doing down here?"

Jazz rolled his optics behind their visor and lifted their hands and flicked the center of Prowl's chevron, "Shouldn't Ah be tha one askin' _ya_ that, _Enforcer_ Prowl? Ya are supposed to be tha rule abidin' one in our relationship, remember?"

There was a snort from the long forgotten Ironhide. He stomped closer and sidled over to a panel that was set against the outside of the cell, "If you two are just going to gush at each other like that, loverbot can just go inside the cell. I don't want to have to stand around listening to this." The plasma bars de-energized and the cell door opened. "Get in before I purge."

Jazz grinned at the weapons specialist, "Aw, so the Autobot's walkin' turret does have a weakness, then? An' somethin' like sweet talkin' too!"

Ironhide glared at Jazz, "_In!"_

"Ah'm goin', Ah'm goin'!" he laughed and pounced on Prowl, bowling him over with a loud crash. Jazz ignored the door's closing and the reenergizing of the bars, too preoccupied with curling up on Prowl's chest, systems purring happily.

"Prowler…" he hummed.

Prowl chuckled and wrapped his arms around Jazz, not bothering to move from where he had been knocked flat on his back. Peripherally, he sensed Ironhide leaving with a last, rather disgusted and uncomfortable, "_Good riddance_."

After a while, "…Prowl?"

"Yes?"

"Ya never answered my question about why ya are actually down here, ya know."

-=/\=-

Ratchet stood in front of Prime, waiting for him to finish assimilating the report.

Optimus set the report down with a frown, "I must admit, this doesn't look good. You said that you couldn't identify the anomaly?"

"No," Ratchet shook his head, "I need to do a deeper scan to see if I can identify what it is. It doesn't look like a natural formation of bad code and if it isn't natural, what its function is, and who encoded it are my main concerns. I can't tell what it is supposed to do, but I could tell that it isn't likely to be prompted into activating right now. And as it is neither infectious nor self propagating, it doesn't seem to be dangerous to us or its carrier. As things stand, it _seems_ to be relatively harmless."

"But we cannot take that chance," Optimus said, following Ratchet's train of thought, agreeing with it. They couldn't afford to take the chance that this anomaly was benign when chances were that it wasn't. "As soon as you have the chance, scan it. I give you authority over this case."

Ratchet took back the proffered report, "But what about Prowl? Doesn't he have any say?"

"As much as we might be treating Jazz like a guest here, never forget that he is a Decepticon. He is a prisoner. It is the oddity of the situation that forces us to adapt to it."

Ratchet jerked, spooked, "I didn't think…" He shook his head, "It's strange…" He looked down at the report, "How is it that he managed to make me forget that he's the enemy? Red optics, red visor, Decepticon brand, and all." It was puzzling.

Optimus stared, "You'd best remember when you scan him."

Ratchet nodded, subdued, "Yes Prime."

"Dismissed," Optimus slumped as soon as Ratchet had left his office.

The whole situation was wearing on him. Prowl was bonded? It wasn't something that he had ever thought about before, and hearing that he was not only bonded but to one of the enemy on top of it… It was nearly too strange to comprehend.

He was forced to put Prowl, one of his most upright officers, in the brig for making false statements in regards to his acceptance and placement within the Autobot army. He had a Decepticon on base being treated like a guest with an anomaly within his processors that more than likely housed some sort of malicious software, or something equally malevolent. His staff was being charmed into complacency. And… he glanced at a lone data pad on the corner of his desk, more obstacles loomed on the horizon.

He was tempted to pull Prowl out of the brig so that he could have his handy dandy bane of paperwork everywhere officer back. He couldn't though.

Prowl had to stay in the brig. Jazz needed his processors examined. Ratchet needed to do the examining. Ironhide… had vanished, avoiding _his_ paperwork quite deftly. …And Optimus needed Prowl's tactical advice on what to do with regards to his newest problem.

It was times like these that Optimus wished he were a simpler mech who didn't have the weight of command on his shoulders.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Shards V  
Author: AotA  
Rating: T  
Warnings: discussion of a glowering Prowl's interfacing habits (This fic is _not _going to have a feel good ending. At all. They will have a chance, but it's still not a nice/happy ending. It's actually going to be sad and/or sparkbreaking.)  
Characters: Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, Cliffjumper, Ratchet  
Setting: very AU tf-bayverse  
Summary: Allegiances fluctuated at the beginning of the war, some voluntarily… some not so much.  
Notes: This is not beta-read so go ahead and point out something that I need to correct. I'm thinking that this is going to be a bit longer than I was expecting, and I won't be making my wishful goal of wrapping this up before NaNoWriMo hits unless I go absolutely crazy with my writing.

When the next orn arrived, Ironhide appeared at the door of the cell, having been sent to retrieve Jazz for more medical work.

Predictably, from Prowl's perspective at the very least, Jazz decided to be… less than cooperative.

"No," Jazz refused, "Ah'm not goin' anywhere. Ah'm goin' ta stay right here."

Ironhide's face was taut with frustration, eventually his attention shifted to Jazz's cellmate, "Sir, can't you do anything?"

Prowl's smile was rusty, but obvious, "Unfortunately, I cannot assist you. I am, after all, the one in the brig. I have no authority to issue commands of any sort."

Ironhide was incredulous, "_What?"_

Jazz began to snicker but it soon became a full out roar of laughter the longer Ironhide stood there stupefied.

Ironhide growled, "You choose _now _of all times to pick up a sense of humor?"

Prowl shrugged and spread his white hands in a way that said _I have nothing_ without saying anything at all, "I have always had a sense of humor, Ironhide. You simply haven't been paying attention. It is unfortunate, but some mechs simply cannot begin to appreciate my favored method of expression."

"As it stands," Prowl declared, "I am incapable of helping you."

A beat then…

"_Aaaarrrrgh!"_ Ironhide's cannons whirred and he aimed at Jazz, "_What_ did you do to him, you little _glitch_?"

"Me?" Jazz asked wryly, warily keeping an optic on the black mech's charged cannons, "Ah didn't do anythin' ta him. As for what we did ta _each other_… well. Unfortunately, that's just wishful thinkin'. Prowler kinda prefers a place with a bit fewer monitors." He glared at an obvious sensor.

Ironhide gaped at Prowl, mouth opening and closing several times. Eventual what came out was a sad buzz that barely escaped his vocalizer.

Jazz stopped, "Wow… Think Ah broke him?" he asked.

Prowl just stared at Jazz, "I do believe that you have only become more shameless over time. 95 percent of the mechs I associate with have likely never associated my person with acts of inter-mech intimacy. I find it less than surprising that Ironhide falls into that category."

"Why not? Ya got a handsome frame, a brilliant processor, an' a wonderful temperament. What more could they want?" Jazz asked then hastily backpedaled, "Not that Ah'm about ta share ya! 'Cause Ah _won't_."

While Jazz was talking, Prowl rose from where he had been sitting on the edge of the cell's single berth and strode over to the cell door. Before he pressed the call button set near the bars, he gave Jazz a bland look and said simply, "A personality?"

"_What?"_ Jazz yelped, voice pitched just right to cause an unpleasant squeal when the mech on the other end activated the speaker.

"Is everything alright?" the other mech, Cliffjumper he believed he was called, asked in a somewhat panicked tone of voice.

"Everything is fine," Prowl assured, "However, we will be needing a medic to come down to the brig to retrieve Ironhide."

"He's injured?" Apparently, Prowl's assurances meant little if he asked for a medic the moment after he made them.

"He is not. I believe that his logic center was simply unable to handle a scenario laid out for him. That is all."

"…"unable to handle a scenario"? We're still talking about Ironhide, right?" Cliffjumper repeated incredulously.

"Yes."

After a moment, Cliffjumper proved that he was more intelligent that Prowl had anticipated, "…Do I want to know what _kind_ of scenario this was? Because there was no way that it was one about a battle."

"I would be ill advised to tell you," Prowl said, confirming Cliffjumper's suspicions that whatever it was, he _did not want to know_.

"Right then… I'll have a medic sent your way. Cliffjumper out."

"Not that that wasn't just hilarious, but _what_ was that you were saying about having a personality?" Jazz asked sharply as soon as the speaker clicked off.

Prowl's wings drooped, "I am sure that you felt some of it when we reopened the bond." He lightly touched the tip of a claw to his chest plating directly over his spark. "I became the Autobot answer to Shockwave. The tactical processor that I have installed made me… valuable." He waved his hand through the air, dispersing the issue, "I associate with the Prime, CMO, and others for a reason, Jazz. You are not stupid. Reckless, yes, but never stupid. You cannot tell me that you have not had thoughts about it."

"Heh," Jazz smirked halfheartedly, "Caught me. Didn't really _want _ya ta be high ranked. Ah was just deludin' myself though, 'cause ya are too efficient ta do anythin' half sparked. Ah was just hopin' that it was about whatever ya were doin' disguised as a Decepticon."

"It does in part," Prowl acknowledged, "but that mission also has to do with my position as an Autobot. One of my objectives was to remove any possible records of my capabilities, and if at all possible, any record of my existence from Decepticon archives. I took advantage of the chance to look for your whereabouts as well."

"Did you?" Jazz asked, "Find me that is."

"I do not even know," Prowl said, "I find it highly probable, but I lost the chance to review the data that I took when I was…"

"Thrown in tha brig?"

"Indeed."

"Well, we're together again at least, even if we _are_ in tha brig."

-=/\=-

Ratchet was not impressed when he was told that he needed to go pick up Ironhide from the brig. The reason that the weapons junky had gone down there in the first place was to retrieve a patient for him. And he wound up being the one needing to be retrieved.

Ratchet was _very much_ not impressed.

Ironhide was stock still outside of the cell staring into space. "Hello there," Ratchet muttered, jacking into the back of the weapons specialist's helm "My name's Ironhide and I'm an idiot. I fry my logic center for no good reason."

Prowl called out, "He had reason."

"You," Ratchet jabbed a finger toward the cell without looking up from what he was doing, "Shut up. Ironhide was supposed to bring Jazz to me in the medical bay. I am _not happy_ that I was forced to come down he and do so myself. _And_ have to fix Ironhide." He frowned, fiddled with a few things, then eventually asked, "Whatdid you _do_ to him? This is pretty impressive damaged considering how little time it took for you to blow his processor."

Jazz piped up even though he was on the far end of the cell from the door, "Just Prowl's interfacin' habits!"

Ratchet snorted, "Really? That's it? I'm disappointed. Though it will be good to know that Prowl is interfacing. I have been tempted to _order_ him to find a partner and have a few overloads soon. It's just as well that I didn't I suppose, considering that you're bonded."

When Prowl started to protest, Ratchet simply spoke over him, "I'm a medic Prowl. There are always signs, you just have to know how to read them. And I could tell that you weren't getting what you needed."

With a violent smack that had what he could see of Prowl flinching, he hit Ironhide upside the head, "Welcome to the online, Ironhide!"

Ironhide winced, frozen joints unlocking, "Ow! What the Pit, Ratchet? When did you get here?"

"I've been here putting your processor back together. I will tell you this: _Don't_ think about what made you offline. It is unimportant and I don't feel like doing this _again_ for such a stupid reason."

"…What?" he asked, processor still fuzzy.

"Exactly," he informed a still clueless Ironhide before switching tracks, "Now, you will either come over here quietly, or I will drag you out and down the corridor screaming if need be so that I can check you out in the medical bay again."

"How 'bout neither?" Jazz asked.

"It's orders from above. It's going to happen one way or the other."

That actually drew Jazz closer, "Ya are jokin', right? Ya seriously want me in med bay for another round? A Decepticon?"

"Especially so," Ratchet said, "You are a prisoner, and a Decepticon, and the anomaly in your processor is concerning as it resisted general analysis."

"An anomaly?" Prowl asked concerned. He was unsurprised that the command would want a more in depth scan of such a thing, but he had thought that it wasn't overly important considering the flippant way that Jazz had told him about the readings that Ratchet had taken during the first examination.

Ratchet nodded, "It doesn't _look_ malignant, but we won't be able to know for sure until I examine it, especially since it looks manufactured."

"…" Prowl was disturbed, "…Jazz?"

"Ya aren't jokin' 'bout this, are ya?" Jazz said, coming to stand right by the door.

"No. I'm not."

Jazz reluctantly gave his assent, the seriousness of the medic and the leashed fear coming from Prowl making him unusually biddable, "Fine. Ah'll come an' let ya do your tests, but Ah'll be fine. Ya will see." His words were said in general but the sentiment was mostly addressed to Prowl, trying to soothe some of the fear that Jazz knew Prowl didn't want acknowledged.

"Good. I wanted to start the tests a while ago, but the holdup shouldn't have any effect upon them." Ratchet opened the cell door and Jazz stepped out.

Oddly, the tension that Jazz expected to feel within the Autobot base only began to hit him when the door closed and he was separated from Prowl. He clamped down on the panic even as he could feel it echo through their bond. It didn't make him feel any better to know that Prowl too was frightened, in his own proudly stoic manner.

Jazz waved goodbye as he followed Ratchet around the corner, taking them out of sight of the cell door. Jazz's spark chilled as Ironhide's large bulk closed in on him. He didn't know why, but he didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit.


End file.
